


rose-tinted glasses, an epitome of the world

by thesisean (orphan_account)



Series: the change and comfort we all seek [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, actually i think the dteam just has a overcomplicated poly dynamic, bad is literally sap's dad, dont go at me its true, dream dies right after, dream is a carpenter, george is a writer, ghost au, haunted basements /j, pls read the first part of the series too to get some pinch of context, sapnap died prior, sapnap was studying what do you think he's doing at 19, tommyinnit is friends with GeorgeNotFound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27044587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thesisean
Summary: he met dream first. a hardworking carpenter.(he's dead)he met sapnap after, over a cup of coffee.(he's dead too)george is haunted by the ghosts of his past, present and future, both metaphorically and literally.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: the change and comfort we all seek [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968274
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	rose-tinted glasses, an epitome of the world

ghosts haunt him. they’ve haunted him since he was a kid, pulling at his fingers, teasing him off the path, their stretched mouths wide with the full intent of hurting him. 

  
he’s grown to hate the ghosts, to hate himself. to hang desperately to the path no matter how they seek to push him off. 

  
he met dream first. an accidental thing. he thinks it was because dream’s a fucking giraffe, the way dream was distractedly running down the street, hefting a rucksack that’s sloppily zipped, a handle of a hammer sticking out haphazardly. the way his light brown hair was swept across his forehead, wild strands of hair that seemed untamable. he’d run right smack into george, who’d let go of the coffee cup grasped loosely in his hands. it ended up with dream fussing worriedly over a complete stranger (him) and pushing the stains of coffee vigorously from the cardigan that george wore with a tissue. dream gave him his number. they kind of bonded over it since.

  
(he’s dead)

  
he met sapnap next. dream introduced both over (ironically) cups of coffee. sap arched a prominent eyebrow at him. he’d scoffed, rolled his eyes, returned with a playfully scathing retort when sapnap brought up the whole height issue. rich coming from him. the first meet up ended up with incessant bickering between the youngest and oldest in the trio, about as good it would’ve gone. they went from being awkward without the more stable presence of dream to falling asleep to each other’s voices in the night on discord call. 

  
(he’s dead too)

  
they made him hate himself a little less, made himself laugh, smile until his cheeks hurt. 

  
he misses them.

  
\--

  
the cursor on the word document blinks curiously at him, wondering what he’s doing just staring at the constant blinking line. he honestly doesn’t know. the hands that hover over the keys unmoving retracts as he rubs his eyes. he’s really tired. hasn’t been sleeping properly since the fire, and then the car accident. he relaxes his shoulders when he realises they’re tensed up. 

  
he sighs, wrings his wrists a little, cracking them with a soft _pop_. he isn’t alone. again.

  
one presence is warm, lively, welcoming. (orange)

  
the other presence is laid-back, caring, teasing. (green)

  
_it’s them_. at least how his brain conjures it, imagines it. 

  
he ignores them. they’re not real. what’s real is the endlessly blinking cursor on the blank page of his computer, the headache that mounts steadily on his temple, and the lease fees that he’s promised to hand over in a week.

  
\--

  
he loves his ghost idiot friends, yes, but when there’s one who plays non-stop with the carpenter’s box, bored and easily distracted by the slightest things, and there’s the other who isn’t much better, trying to drape himself all over him when he’s hunched over and working, it kinda sucks. 

  
“stop it, sapnap,” he whines, unable to physically push the younger’s ghost figure away. the latter gives a blazing smile, one that he knows all too well works its charm. “you love me.” 

  
“not at the moment.” george refocuses his eyes upon the glaring screen. 

  
“come _on_ , georgie, give me attention,” sap begs playfully, twisting to stare at george upside down, eyes unwavering. 

  
“ask dream.” george rolls his eyes. “you should know I don’t do clingy shit.”

  
“never can start too late.” george sighs heavily when he meets sapnap’s eyes and sees the faint furrow of his brow, the slight biting of his bottom lip, his pupils dilated just so. 

  
“why.” 

  
“fun.” sap grins, flipping him off. gravity somehow still works on him even when it doesn’t, his dark bangs hanging down from his forehead, the ends of his bandana swinging the same way. 

  
“that’s _rude_ , sapnap, did you never learn?” dream drifts from where he was beside the dining table. he smacks sapnap down the moment he reaches the work desk. 

  
“ow.” sap rubs his head furiously. 

  
“haven’t gotten less weak, either. I barely even used my strength.” dream laughs lightly, pushing off the floor, sitting on the edge of the table. 

  
sap grumbles like a brat. “well, sorry for being _dead._ ”

  
george doesn’t even lift his eyes. “not like you did work out beforehand. maybe you’d be able to escape the fire if you were stronger.”

  
sap quietens. george knows he struck something. he should’ve known not to joke about that.

  
“sorry,” he mumbles. dream doesn’t meet his eyes, squirms on the desktop. 

  
“’is ok.” sapnap forces a small smile. “it’s already happened.” 

  
george lowers his gaze, taps guiltily at the keyboard, hardly making sense of the words he’s typed. dream hums softly unconsciously, swinging his legs, tapping with no sound on the wood of the desktop. it soothes him from the blunt comment he made previously, relaxes him adequately. sap moves from the ceiling back to behind him, and he makes no remark as george taps quickly on the keyboard, spilling out sentence after sentence. it’s comforting, the way he’s getting lost in the world of words and literature, the soft clicks of keys under his dancing fingertips, the warmer presence that drifts quietly behind him, passively watching the letters form words and sentences, and the taller quieter one who hums a tune that reminds him oddly of techno’s ‘blitz’ parody.

  
he’s really thankful, really, that he gets his friends back, a second chance. he doesn’t know what he’ll do without them. 

  
he doesn’t tell anyone about the pair ghosts in his basement, although it would have been a pretty funny half-joke he makes to skeppy. it feels _private_ , something he wants to keep to himself. wilbur checks up on him sometimes. he gives glowing replies. the child tommy wishes to go to the café a little way from his house. “to impress that I’m actually Friends With GeorgeNotFound,” he insists, but george thanks him internally. he’s not the best with expressing emotions, but he’s grateful for the gesture regardless. dream chuckles when he knows, says something cheesy like _“he’s a good boy”_ , and sap just scoffs, flips on his back. 

  
he gathers from sap that he misses bad the most, other than himself. 

  
sap laments about the way bad keeps him in check, yelling when he says ‘fuck’ just to piss him off. he smiles sadly at a faraway memory george is too awkward to ask about. he expresses that he wants to apologise for being a pain in bad’s ass, wants to tell him he loves him, in that brotherly-father way. george promises to tell the dad in their family dynamic. 

  
dream just picks the corners of his lips up when george asks the same question. it’s a plainly resigned way, and the way dream drops his head, stuffs a hand through his hair suggests a lot that he doesn’t wish to find out. he does tell george to say thank you to wilbur and techno and phil and the rest of the small streamer squad. 

  
(he’s scared that one day the two would disappear, leave him alone again with his sanity and dark thoughts, but them being here is enough for now. it’s all he wants, in the moment. despite how fucked up his vision of blues and yellows are, it’s beautiful as long as they are there, the tinted glasses to his deprived eyes that search for his meaning. an epitome of the world he sees.)

  
it’s enough for him. 


End file.
